


They Left Quietly

by AKnightOfAGoodKing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Death, Funeral, Future, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 11:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKnightOfAGoodKing/pseuds/AKnightOfAGoodKing
Summary: Excerpt:[The funeral day of Ronald Bilius Weasley was a somber one. Hundreds of people came to see his burial, friends and families, people who knew what he had done in the War. Hermione stood by his casket the entire time, weeping as everyone came up to say their last words to him, his wrinkled face asleep and his silver hair combed back.]





	They Left Quietly

**Author's Note:**

> **[DO NOT REPOST/REUSE MY WORK(S) WITHOUT MY ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND PERMISSION]**

The funeral day of Ronald Bilius Weasley was a somber one. Hundreds of people came to see his burial, friends and families, people who knew what he had done in the War. Hermione stood by his casket the entire time, weeping as everyone came up to say their last words to him, his wrinkled face asleep and his silver hair combed back. 

She shouldn't be sad, she told herself, because her time was coming as well. It did for her parents, Molly, Arthur, almost everyone from their age and time. Neville died just last year. The last one of their friends left were her, Ginny, Harry, and Charlie. He had outlived all of his his brothers, even the youngest, and you could see the torment on his face, barely showing any signs of being ninety-five. Working with the dragons for so long, he said, imbued him with some of their magic, the kind that slowed down time for him. Dragons lived for hundreds of years, sometimes even thousands, but that was such a long time for a wizard or a witch, especially so when the people around you still aged and died. She shouldn't be sad, it was Ron's time. He died gently in his sleep, after they had settled into bed like they always did for the past six decades. when she woke up, he stayed asleep. It was a good way to go, the way he'd wanted to go. Hermione looked out the closest party of people, looking at her family.

James, Albus, and Lily were all married with half-grown children, all of whom were holding onto Ginny who was crying for her brother and Harry who was crying for his best friend. Victorie, Domique, and Louis had Charlie, their spouses and children doing their best to comfort the oldest Weasley left. Then there was Roxxy and Freddy, George's and Angelia's children, and Percy's daughters, Molly II and Lucy. The five of them with their families surround the other two, exchanging words of comfort and embraces over the lost of their uncle and great-uncle. Many of them had tear stained faces that bright morning day. 

And Hermione's own children and their families stood by her, unable to leave her side because they needed each other. Hugo married Laura Keller, a Muggle-born witch with brown hair and eyes as green as the sea. They had two children, Sara and Jacob. Rose married Draco Malfoy's son, Scorpio, and they had children too, just one daughter, Astoria, after her grandmother who died too young. They were a beautiful bunch, and she was proud of all of them. They stayed with her as Ron's casket was closed and buried into the ground, cold and still. They stayed until the last bit of dirt was put back, a damp brown patch that marked where his body was, and crowd began to dwindle with quiet cracks. 

"Mum, let's go back," Hugo said softly. To the Burrow, he meant. That was where everyone, when they retired, came back to. It was a shared home as the older generation passed down their homes to their children. James now owned 12 Grimmuald Place, and Victorie had Shell Cottage. Freddy took the apartment complex above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. All the other children had their own homes now, but they always came back to the Burrow, the home that Molly and Arthur made for their children and their children's children and so on. The others will be there too, preparing something to eat because it wasn't good to starve yourself in such tragic times. 

Hugo and Rose were going to stay with her for a while, because they worried for her and they wanted to stay together in the face of their father's passing. 

"We'll be okay, Mum," Rose assured softly, taking her by the hand. Her eyes were teary, but she did not let one fall. She'd always strong like that, when comforting others even when it hurt her too. That was why Scorpio loved her, Rose comforting him at his mother's own death all those years ago.

Hermione shook her head, not pushing her daughter away. "I need a little bit longer with him," she replied, looking at the bump on the ground at her feet. 

Hugo and Rose looked like they were going to protest, but Scorpio stepped in, saying, "We'll wait for you then." Rose looked at her husband, and the blond replied, "She needs time to be alone, Rosie. We'll be okay."

Rose pursed her lips, but she nodded. With one last look at her mother, the two and their daughter Apparated silently. Hugo opened his mouth to say something, but Laura seemed to have the same idea and stopped him. They Apparated soon after, but not before Hugo gave his mother one more hug. Hermione smiled, loving how much he looked like Ron in moments of compassion. 

Then she was alone, on a field nearly empty will willow trees and lavender flowers. All the Weasleys were buried on this hill because even in death, they wanted to stay together as a family, and that made Hermione let out a sob because even in death, they loved each other so much. Her time would come soon enough, but standing there, alone on that hill, she felt so lonely, yearning to be young again, to live another lifetime with the man she loved, live through the good times and the hard times. How would she spend the last of her years before she died? She had worried about this since Bill first died, seeing the signs of aging in all of them. She couldn't stand the thought of being alone, leaving someone else to be alone. She didn't want to outlive Ginny or Harry, but she might. 

"Granger?"

Hermoine turned around, looking over her shoulder to see Draco Malfoy, Scorpio's father. He was dressed in fine black robes, his thin hair silver instead of the platinum it used to be when they were young. Her own hair was silver now too, but her locks remained thick and curly, falling to her lower back. Ron loved combing her hair in the morning. In his hands, Draco was holding a bouquet of flowers, plush red roses with tints of orange. 

"Malfoy," she addressed, formal because though they had become family by law, she was not as close to him as Harry was. They were still speaking to each other as if they were still back in Hogwarts, though they did not hate each other or tolerated each other. "You missed the ceremony," she said with no bitterness. 

"I know," Draco said, coming up to Ron's grave. He placed down his bouquet, adding the pile that was already covering the ground.

The man looked displeased, pulling out his wand. With a gesture, all the bouquets lost their wrappings and the flowers began to root themselves into the ground, and with the amount of bouquets left, they all covered the field all around them, a garden tribute to Ron. The brown patch marking his grave was now covered in roses, his favorite flower when he was alive.

"Thank you," Hermione said, letting out another sob. "It's beautiful."

"Of course," Draco replied, and he did not leave. "What are you still doing here, Granger? Had you not gone with the rest of the brood? Merlin knows how difficult it is to spot a Weasley, or a Potter." 

Hermione huffed, knowing he was trying to tease. "They're waiting back at home," she answered, smiling sadly at the thought of her family. "Scorpio was here. I think he would've liked it if you had been here."

"I apologize. I prefer a quieter goodbye."

"Like with Astoria," Hermione said, remembering her funeral all those years ago. There was no grand announcement, just invitations. Malfoy had invited Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, seeing that his son had became best friends with Albus and already had eyes for Rose from afar. It was a small affair, only close family and friends attending. Narcissa and Lucius stood by their son the entire time; though not truly approving of their daughter-in-law, they cared for her nonetheless, the mother of their only grandchild and the woman their son loved. "I'm sorry, I shoudn—"

"It's okay," Draco interrupted, giving her a small smile that didn't truly reach his eyes, which was soft with old memories. To this day, Hermione knew he still loved her, so willing to let the Malfoys end with him so that she could live longer. "Yes, Granger, just like Astoria. She always said death in the best of time is quiet, and it's certainly quiet this morning."

"It is."

And they stayed there in that quiet, Draco stepping forward to Ron's gravestone and whispering something softly before standing back up. 

"Granger, I have something to confess to you," Draco then said, coming around to stand next to her. He looked at her, tired and old, but his eyes had adoration as he looked at her. "If you would hear it."

"I will," Hermione replied, nodding her head, and Draco took her gently by the hands.

"I have always wanted to tell you that I loved you," he told her, "you were beautiful and kind and intelligent, and my younger self couldn't help but look at you, even though I knew nothing but hate for you. But now, when we have gotten so old, I can't help but look at you now, you're still very beautiful. I will always love Astoria, just like you will always love Ronald, but it is with genuine affection that I ask if you would spend the rest of our lives with me.

"When Scorpio married Rose, it was like looking at a dream of a life that could've been mine if I had not been raised the the way I was and made the choices I had made, but that isn't our lives. We loved my Astoria and your Ronald and had our families, and we have done everything we could do. I have been alone for a very long time, and I can't stand to see you alone. So I waited, even had Ronald lived on to the end of your days, I would have been happy. But he's gone now and that's not fair. 

"I'm sorry if I'm being brazen, but I still love you, Granger, and in the last of my days, let me be a comfort to you and stay with you. I cannot find myself being with anyone else, I loved only two witches in my life."

And Hermione wept, understanding how he felt, to be alone after the one you loved had died. She had not been alone since that morning, no, she had her family to comfort her as they mourned too, but there was a kind of loneliness that they could not fix, a kind of loneliness of having someone loving you like a lover and a friend, a kind of loneliness that very few people could touch. She could not help but think that she could do the same for Draco too. She would like to spend the rest of her days doing that. 

But she couldn't find the words to say all that. So she embraced him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his shoulders, and she felt Draco's arms around her shoulders, comforting and warm. They were two old people standing by a grave, finding a new happiness together, and they stood there, not moving away or saying a thing until the morning sun struck noon over their heads. 

"Let's go home," Hermione finally said, smiling small with teary eyes. She took one last look at her husband's grave once more, and she repeated the last words she ever said to him, before he went into that good night. Draco listened silently, squeezing her hand in comfort. 

They left quietly. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hermione arrived back at the Burrow, holding Draco's hand, and Scorpio led her and his father into the dining table, sitting them down together, and they all began to eat, still somber but the children tried their best to make their parents smile, even just a little. It helped, and easily, day slipped into night. Draco didn't stay that first night, but no one said a thing when he moved into the Burrow by the next, Malfoy Manor now passed along to Scorpio and Rose. 

They never married, too old to start something so grand, simply living together the way lovers and friends would, making breakfast for each other and sitting in the garden, watching the children play and grow for as long as they could. Hermione did not, in her last days, sleep alone, Draco laying by her side every night, their hands clasped between them, and they say goodnight softly, whispering sweet words to lull each other to sleep, comfort from the fear that one would not wake up without the other.

They died on the same night not two years later, smiles most content on their quiet faces. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work(s), please check out [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/kappachyun?s=09).


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